


You're the Kind That Deals With the Games in the Mind

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Come Eating, Come Feeding, Compulsion, Creampie, Extra Treat, Facials, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Visions, beholding kink, forced dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: He supposes that’s what this talk is about: a discussion of his priorities, a pointless, annoying dance where they pretend that Tim is merely an unruly employee and Elias his exasperated, mild-mannered boss.When Elias asks Tim to stay behind for a moment before leaving for the day, he assumes that he's in for another lecture about his perceived recklessness. The last thing he expects is to find not just Elias, but a worse for wear Jon as well. Turns out that what Elias wants from him is a little more than a promise to behave.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard/Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 144
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	You're the Kind That Deals With the Games in the Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furchte_die_schildkrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/gifts).



> A million thank yous to my amazing, long-suffering beta, MildredMost. You have no clue how much I appreciate you.

“Tim, if you would please stay behind for a moment,” Elias says.

Tim pauses in the act of putting on his coat. Martin does, too. Melanie and Basira have already left; drinks in the afternoon have become something of a regular thing with them, and it’s become commonplace for them to leave around midday and not return. Tim’s glad for it. The more time they spend away from here is more time he has to do his own investigating. He supposes that’s what this talk is about: a discussion of his priorities, a pointless, annoying dance where they pretend that Tim is merely an unruly employee and Elias his exasperated, mild-mannered boss. But Tim isn’t interested in pretending.

“I’ll wait for you,” Martin says, but Tim shakes his head.

“Don’t bother,” he says, voice curt. He can’t seem to speak any other way these days. He sees Martin flinch a little at his tone, and there’s a brief moment where he feels a bit of regret about that – it’s not _Martin’s_ fault all of this is happening, Martin’s his _friend_ – but then he thinks about Martin’s continued insistence that Jon will save them, his willful ignorance of all the ways that he’s just not right, and the feeling is gone.

“Well?” Tim demands after Martin is gone. “What is so important it couldn’t wait? Going to try to bully me into reading a statement or fifteen? Give my sanity up to whatever evil –“

“Your relative level of sanity doesn’t interest me.” Elias says, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. Tim feels his mouth twitch a little, a curl of satisfaction sliding through him at getting under Elias’s skin, even if only a little. He only wishes he knew how to make him really angry – make him feel something of what the rest of them do. Tim would love nothing more than to force Elias to feel the mix of terror and fury that he feels on a daily basis.

One of Elias’s eyebrows twitches up briefly, then his face smooths out again. “Your performance has slid, yes, but that is only to be expected considering the circumstances.”

Tim scoffs. “Oh, yes, the circumstances. Being chained to this place forever, serving an evil god. Just a minor bump to get over, nothing too difficult.”

Elias goes on as though Tim hasn’t spoken. “Fortunately, that isn’t what I wish to speak to you about. If you would come in, please?” He sweeps his hand towards Jon’s office.

“What’s wrong with here? No one’s around.” Tim crosses his arms and doesn’t move. There’s a part of him that knows he’s acting like a petulant child, but he doesn’t care. He can’t leave; he’s trapped here until he dies. The small rebellions are all he has.

Elias smiles indulgently. Tim wants to slap it off of his face. “Be that as it may, I think we’d both feel more comfortable this way.” When Tim still doesn’t move, Elias simply turns and walks into the office, clearly expecting that when Tim has got over his little show of defiance he will follow. Well, fuck him, Tim thinks, and turns, fully intending to leave…but then he hears not one but two voices coming from the office. There’s someone else in there.

 _I don’t care,_ he thinks. _It’s nothing to do with me. I’m going home. I’m going to read the book I got out of the library. It has to have something about The Circus, something I can use._

Tim walks to the door, and looks inside.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s you.”

Jon laughs wryly. “Yes,” he says, voice strained and weak. “That appears to be the case.” He’s slumped over his desk, eyes large and shadowed. His hair is greasy and unkempt. It looks like someone has been running their fingers through it repeatedly, leaving it standing at different, dirty spikes about his head. His face looks gaunter than usual, the angles of his face more pronounced.

“You look like shit, boss,” Tim says, and Jon lets out another laugh.

“I imagine so. I didn’t know where else to go, I-“ he looks at Elias, who places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes in a way that would make Tim’s skin crawl but that Jon seems to find comforting, if the way he relaxes into it is anything to go by.

“You did the right thing,” Elias says, and Tim’s skin _does_ crawl at the proud fondness lacing his voice. Jon, however, seems to brighten a little at the praise, body relaxing even more, small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Tim watches the byplay with a sort of horrified fascination. He wishes, suddenly, that Martin had stayed after all. If he could only see this he might think twice about his faith in Jon.

As if hearing the thought, Elias turns to look at him. “As you can see, Jon has been through an ordeal,” he says.

“Can’t say I’m too broken up about it,” Tim says. “Someone finally got sick of you poking into their business, did they?”

“Something like that.”

“It doesn’t matter what happened. What matters is that Jon is back, he is weak, and he needs our assistance.” Elias squeezes Jon’s shoulder again before releasing him and rising from where he is perched on the edge of his desk. “Ideally, Jon, you would be able to do this yourself, but I do feel a little responsible for not adequately preparing you.”

“So you what? Brought me here to take his food order? I’ll pass, thanks.” Tim casts a look at Jon. “Glad you’re not dead, I guess. He’d probably just replace you with someone even worse.”

Elias puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder – and when did he get so close? He wasn’t that close a second ago, Tim is sure of it. This is no comforting squeeze either but a steel vise clamping down, making Tim wince. “You may want to sit down,” he says, and his voice is all warm solicitousness on top, all cool menace underneath. “The process can be quite draining, although it is also fairly pleasurable. I suppose that is the trade off, yes? Sit,” he says again, and pushes Tim down with unbelievable strength, forcing him to fold into the chair underneath him. It’s at that point that Tim realizes that Elias hasn’t moved at all – despite all of his words, he’d been the one advancing, getting closer to the desk. To Jon, whose eyes seem to be growing larger in his face the longer he looks at him.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks, the words coming slowly, almost dreamily.

“Never mind that,” Elias soothes. “Jon, if you would?”

“Statement of Timothy Stoker,” Jon says, “regarding – what is it regarding, Tim?”

The odd dreaminess fades from Tim’s mind. _This again?_ He thinks. He’s not wild about repeating his encounter with the Stranger a second time – it feels strangely like using what happened to his brother as a bargaining chip, but he also really wants to get out of this office, away from Jon’s eyes and Elias’s smile and whatever creepy thing they have going on. _Sorry Danny_.

“Regarding the disappearance of my brother, Danny Stoker, on June 14th, 2017.” Tim glances at Elias. This is a waste of his time. Couldn't he have just let Jon listen to the recording if this was so important? Martin had been adamant that it be recorded, after all, and who for, if not Jon?

Jon frowns, confused. “It’s not –“ he starts, and Elias shakes his head.

“You can’t get anything out of him that way, Jon,” he says. “He’s already given that statement. Martin was very supportive.” He smiles, and Jon’s frown deepens.

“Martin? He’s – he took Tim’s statement?” He sounds ruffled, almost jealous, and Tim wonders if Martin’s little crush is more requited than any of them knows.

“Not as well as you of course, but needs must.” Jon’s shoulders relax at that, and Tim gets it. Of course that’s what he’d be worried about now, isn’t it? His precious statements.

“You can listen to the tape later,” Elias says. “It will help, but not nearly so well as something fresh.” He cups Jon’s face in his hand and tilts it towards him, searching his eyes. “You really are very hungry, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jon breathes, actually leaning into the hand, and what the hell _is_ it with these two, anyway?

He decides he doesn’t care. “Well you two have a lot of fun finding someone else to torture,” he says, rising and heading for the door. “Maybe you can have a turn, Elias. I’m sure it’ll be very –“

“Do you want to know how your brother died?”

At first the words don’t register, but when they do Tim staggers, stomach folding in on itself as though he’s been sucker punched; in a way he has. He turns, clutching his suddenly aching belly, to stare at Elias.

“What?”

“Oh, you know the basics. You have an idea, but it can be so much worse. You can know exactly how he felt while the skin was peeled off of his body, how he begged and screamed. Do you want to know what his last thought was, at the end?”

“I’m not-“

Suddenly, blindingly, Danny is in his head, filling it. Danny screaming and begging, not even aware of it, unable to know anything beyond the incredible, overwhelming pain, he’s writhing and screaming but the screams sound almost like laughter –

Just as suddenly as the image entered his head, it’s gone, and Tim is left doubled over, gasping, still feeling the painful, crawling sensation of his skin being peeled from his body like a grape. He thinks that he can still hear Danny begging, and it takes him a moment to realize that the sounds he hears are coming from his own mouth.

“What did you do to me?” he asks when he can speak, looking up.

Elias shrugs. “Merely given you a taste of what you’ll see if you continue to be obstinate. Shall I keep on?”

“And you’re –“ _okay with this?_ Is what he means to say, but then Tim actually gets a look at Jon and the words die in his throat. Jon's watching, eyes moving rapidly between Tim and Elias, and they are wide and rapt and filled with something like ecstasy. Whatever happens here, Jon is too far gone to put a stop to it, if he’d even want to. _Too_ hungry, Tim thinks, and shudders.

“Perhaps I should continue,” Elias says musingly. “It does work so well…but no. No, I can’t give you everything, Jon,” he says, smiling at him fondly. “You really must learn to fend for yourself.”

“I – statement of Tim-“

“No, you already know that won’t do. You’ve gotten all you can there; there’s nothing new to be learned that way.”

Jon falters. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to –“ his eyes move back over to Tim and narrow. “What is it you do here all day?” he asks, and Tim would laugh if he were able. This is the question he chooses, of all things?

Somewhere very far away, a tape recorder clicks on.

“Research the Circus and imagine bending you over my desk,” he says and then shakes his head. “I don’t,” he says. “I never –“

“Why?”

Tim tries to clamp his mouth shut over the words because _fuck this, he doesn’t think about it_ , and a bolt of pain lances through his head as he speaks. “Because you should be the helpless one, for a change,” he says, the words a snarl. “Both of you. You should be held at someone else’s mercy and made to beg, then given no quarter. You should be made to understand how it feels to know that you can’t escape, to be trapped, helpless, like a bug impaled on someone’s pin, squirming fruitlessly while they watch.”

“But whose pin do you mean?” Elias asks with sly humor.

Tim gives him a dirty look. “Fuck you.”

“Is that what you want?” Jon asks, and Tim’s entire body jerks.

“Yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth, then, “no.” He finds himself getting caught in Jon’s gaze again and gives himself a full body shake, trying to break whatever spell he has on him. “I don’t. It’s not –“ it isn’t anything he would ever do, not really, he just –

“Tell me,” Jon says, voice dark and thick, and it isn’t a question but Tim feels it go through him like a shock. His head rolls back on his neck and he shivers all over, skin prickling and hair standing on end. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Elias shiver too, eyelids fluttering, and he feels a moment of twisted satisfaction at the thought that Elias has underestimated Jon’s ability before he’s lost, mouth offering up even more of his secrets to Jon’s insatiable hunger.

“I think about slapping you; just hauling off and cracking the palm of my hand across your face when you start talking about you, you, always you. I imagine the sound it would make, the brisk clapping noise. The satisfaction of watching your face after it happens is almost better than the slap itself. All open mouth, wide eyes and flushed cheeks, my hand print standing out in stark contrast. Before you can rally I have a hand in your hair, forcing your head back, making you arch your neck, bare it to me. The surprised gasp it forces out of your mouth makes me hard, instantly, and I pull your head back farther, seeking more. You try to push me back, away, but you’re weak, ineffectual; I hold all the power here. I pull your hair harder, punishing you; and for the first time you reward me with a real noise, a moan. You bite it off, but it’s too late. The echo of it rings in the air, betraying you. You want this.

“I push a leg up between yours; you make some noise, a protest, and try to pull away. ‘Don’t,’ you say, but you don’t mean it, not really. I can feel how much you don’t mean it against my thigh. But that kind of backtalk can’t be allowed. I slap you again, harder this time, the sound ringing in the otherwise quiet room. This time the moan isn’t bitten off at all, but loud and full and rich, and your hips move against my leg, seeking friction. I rub my leg lightly against you; almost too light to feel, and you’re so responsive, so desperately needy, that you’re whimpering and begging in moments, trying to get me to press against you more fully, to ease the ache between your legs. I won’t; this isn’t about you. I push you to your knees.

“You’re inexperienced, sloppy, but that makes it better. Watching you gag on my cock is maybe the best sight I’ve ever seen in my life; the perfect way to shut you up and make you useful at the same time. I use my grip on your hair to move your head, forcing you down on my cock just to feel you choke around it. I’ve never done anything like this before; the feeling is exhilarating, freeing. You moan around me, trying to speak, but of course you can’t. You’re so vulnerable like this, on your knees, eyes leaking as you struggle to breathe around the flesh choking you. I could come just like this, too easily, but I don’t want to. I’m not done with you yet.

“I pull you off of me - you don’t want to go but I’m the one in charge, the one calling the shots – and spin you around, forcing you face first onto the desk. I get your trousers down one handed – I only need them to go past your arse, after all - and then I push inside.

“There’s no gentleness in the way I take you, no care; I ride you hard, snapping my hips, paying you back for every moment I’ve been stuck here, unable to do anything. All the resentment, all the anger, it’s being pounded into you with every thrust, and you love it, you want more, opening your legs as wide as you can, gripping the table and fucking back into me for all you’re worth. Part of you craves it, this brutality. You want to be taken apart, used. You want to be mindless.

“Even after you’ve come you beg me to keep going, to break you harder, but that’s it, that’s all I can take, and I’m gone too, coming hard, hips straining. Everything whites out and for a brief, blissful moment I feel nothing but pleasure, so intense that my entire body shakes with it. Then I come down, and I’m alone, with a fistful of my own come and a sick squirming in my stomach, hating you more than ever.”

Tim pulls himself out of his narration with an almost audible rip. He’s sitting without any memory of how it happened, leaning heavily into the chair beneath him. He feels drained now, almost lethargic, his limbs heavy and cumbersome. The only lively part of him is his cock, which is hard in his jeans, straining against the material. The lust is voracious, consuming; an aching hand that has spread long fingers up into his stomach and down his legs. He realizes he’s breathing fast, nearly panting, and he wonders just how his voice sounded, spilling into the air. What noises he might have been making. He gives Jon the dirtiest look he can muster when his body is practically shaking with combined exhaustion and arousal.

“Statement fucking ends.”

Jon stares at him, eyes dark. His mouth is slightly open. He still looks hungry, Tim thinks. If so, he’s fucked. Tim has giving him two things that no one was ever supposed to have; he imagines that anything less meaty would do little more than whet his appetite. It’s over, at least his part, and it was awful, and he hates them both but at least it’s finished.

Then Elias’s hand comes down on his shoulder, and he knows they’re just getting started.

“Thank you, Tim,” he says. “You’ve done very well.”

Tim ignores the curl of warmth at the praise. “Yeah, just call me Soylent Green,” he says, and is viciously pleased when Jon flinches. He shifts away from Elias’s hand and stands, taking an admittedly wobbly step towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be g-“

Elias slaps him.

He doesn’t hold back; Tim’s head rocks to the side with the force of it. The sound it makes seems very loud; the sounds that Tim and Jon both make in response are lost beneath it.

“Of course it wasn’t the same as an actual statement,” Elias says. “How could it be, when it takes place solely in Tim’s head? For you to really get anything out of this you’re going to have to witness it firsthand.” 

Tim stares at him a moment, uncomprehending. “Wh-“

Elias slaps him again. “That’s enough,” he says, voice mild. “You’ve spoken enough for now.” He turns back to Jon, who is watching him as though hypnotized. _Maybe he is_ , Tim thinks. _Why else would even be listening to this_?

“Would you like to?” Elias asks. “Would you like to see? To know?”

Jon shivers. “Yes,” he says.

“No,” Tim counters, and doesn’t quite get his hand up in time to block the third slap. He goes on regardless. “No, that is where I draw the line. This is over.”

Elias laughs. Tim feels a chill go down his spine, and he swallows hard. Elias smiles at him. “Oh, Tim,” he says, and for the first time that fondness he keeps hearing for Jon is directed at him. It makes his insides crawl even as he feels his face warm. “You still don’t understand, do you? You’ll do exactly as we say, because there is no other choice. There hasn’t been for you for a long time.”

“Besides, you like it,” Jon says, an odd certainty in his voice. He blinks. “You like it,” he repeats. “Y-you want it?” his voice goes up at the end, turning the words into a question, and Tim’s traitor mouth answers immediately, giving Jon exactly what he wants.

“Yes,” Tim says, and snarls. “Look, yes, thinking about it gets me off, but that doesn’t mean –“ Elias sinks a hand into his hair and yanks his head back, and Tim cuts himself off with a pained cry as his neck arches, back bowing as Elias forces his head into an unnatural angle. One of Tim’s hands flies to his hair to work at the hand entangled in it; the other flails out in front of him, aiming for Elias’s face.

Elias sighs, and immediately after Tim finds himself on the floor of the auditorium. He’s screaming and thinking of his brother, his big brother who had been so concerned, so worried, and he’d wanted to tell him but hadn’t been able, and now he was never going to get to, oh, Tim –

Tim is wrenched out of the memory, sobbing, face pressed into the wood of the desk, hands resting beside his head. Elias has him pressed up against the desk, pinned there under his weight, and Tim is bigger than him but he can feel how strong Elias is, body all one wiry muscle. He’s not moving unless Elias wants him to.

His wrists are pinned as well, held down against the surface of the table by two strong hands, but they aren’t Elias’s. They’re Jon’s. Tim looks at him, searching his eyes for the sometimes endearing, often exasperating boss that he used to know and mostly like, and finds nothing. Nothing but that horrible hunger, that awful need to _know_. “What happened to you?” Tim asks desperately, and for a second Jon’s eyes flicker, lose their strange darkness and become recognizably _Jon_.

“I don’t know,” he says and while he sounds as terrified as Tim feels he also sounds euphoric. Then the black creeps back in, and he’s gone again. There will be no pleading with the man who is left, Tim knows. This man is controlled by desire, by hunger, and little else. _I’m looking at their god_ , Tim realizes, staring. _This is the thing that is really behind Elias, behind this Institute, behind everything. This monster that knows nothing so well as hunger; a devourer that lives only to consume._ Tim feels his legs go loose and watery with terror, and he knows that if Elias weren't holding him up he'd sink to the floor. There's no denying monster like the one raging in Jon's eyes. There is only submission, and the hope that there will be something of you left when it's over.

He feels Elias undo his jeans and push them down – stopping just past his arse, of course, keeping with the fantasy. Playing into the pretense that this is what he wants. Next goes Elias’s belt and trousers – these he hears hit the floor. He feels Elias position himself and closes his eyes, rests his forehead on the desk and waiting for him to drive in, bracing himself for pain.

A hand grips his hair, tugging his head up and away from the desk. “Look at him,” Elias says. “Let him see you.” Tim doesn’t want to obey, would like to pretend that this isn’t happening, but his eyes have already opened, are already caught on Jon’s, which seem to be growing once more. Tim falls into those eyes as Elias moves against him, not thrusting in in one hard motion but almost teasing him with it, sliding his cock against the crease of his arse, under, behind his balls. Tim wishes he wouldn't be so gentle. It'd be easier to deal with. But of course that's not what Elias is after, and despite himself Tim feels his body begin to respond. His cock, which had grown soft during Elias’s mental torture, begins to fill with blood, rising and pressing lightly against the desk in front of him. Tim squirms, and Elias shifts against him, sliding his hand from his hip to his cock, stroking it. Tim moans.

“What is he doing?” Jon asks, and “does it feel good?” And Tim tells him, tells him how Elias is teasing him, how he somehow knows just what to do to make his body sit up and beg, and yes, he likes it, likes the way it feels, wants more. Jon listens with rapt attention, mouth dropping open as Tim describes the way it feels to have Elias sucking kisses along his neck, his weight pressing him into the table as he strokes his cock with light, torturous fingers, never giving him enough friction to satisfy. It’s too much and not enough; Tim tries to widen his legs and encourage Elias to get in, already, betrayed by his body even as his mind screams its denial.

“Do you want me inside you?” Elias asks, and it’s not Jon, Tim could deny him the answer he seeks, but he’s beyond that now.

“Yes,” he says, sobs, body pressing back, feet scrabbling for leverage to shove himself onto Elias’s cock. “Yes,” he says again, and when Elias finally stops teasing and thrusts inside him his toes curl at how good it feels, how ready he is for it. He hates Elias and he hates Jon but his body doesn’t know from hatred; all it wants is to feel good. It’s drunk on the feeling of Elias inside him, his fingers around his cock, and it works for more of that toe-curling pleasure with a single-minded intensity that Tim could almost envy.

“How does it feel?” Jon demands, and even that is good, the honey of Jon’s voice sliding into his ears and coating his mind, demanding he give voice to the responses Elias is pulling out of him. Tim begins to shake, so close, as he answers in a voice that trembles with his impending orgasm.

“It’s full, and hot. Every time he hits my prostate it sends waves of sensation from that point of contact into every other part of my body, sizzling through my fingertips, my toes. The tip of my cock. His fingers feel light, barely there, the barest sensation against my flesh. I want him to squeeze tighter and I want him to get away; but body is in charge now and body wants, it wants…”

Tim moans, pushing back in earnest, body tightening. His eyes want to close but they are still held by Jon’s; imprisoned within that gaze, forced to look so Jon can see, so he can _know_. His fingers curl uselessly against the desk.

Elias stops. He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and squeezes.

“No,” Tim says, and tries to rock his hips, to get back that delicious friction, but Elias just presses him harder into the desk, keeping him still.

“What’s he doing now?” Jon asks curiously, hungry for the new knowledge, and Tim would laugh at the eagerness in his voice if this were any other situation. As it is he only moans, the sound of Jon’s voice almost as good as a caress. If only Elias weren’t still pinching the base of his cock he thinks he could come from that voice alone, and that’s also kind of funny, when you think about it.

“He’s pinching the base of my cock,” Tim says. “Keeping me from coming because he’s a b-.”

Elias pulls his fingers from Tim’s hair and slides them into his open mouth, muffling him. “Enough of that,” he says. Then, to Jon, “Would you like to see?”

Jon’s searchlight eyes leave Tim and focus on Elias, leaving him feeling strangely bereft. He doesn’t like those eyes on him, but being caught in them makes it easier to let go of the rest of it, and he desperately needs not to think about what he’s doing right now. What’s being done to him.

“Yes,” Jon says. “Show me.”

And of course Elias can’t resist showing off a bit, can he? Can’t resist giving them both a show. Tim sees his own neck, red and ringed with marks from Elias’s mouth. Next is his back, shirt soaked with sweat and stuck to his skin. The eyes they are watching through slide slowly down his back, teasing, before resting on the point where he and Elias are joined. As he – they watch, Elias pulls out until the just the tip of his cock is inside Tim’s arse, then thrusts forward. At the same time he fucks his fingers into Tim’s mouth, filling him everywhere.

Someone moans, and Tim thinks it’s him until they do it again and he recognizes Jon’s voice.

Jon’s head is tilted back, eyes moving rapidly beneath lids that are closed for once, but Tim knows he’s still watching. Knows because he is too; watching through Elias’s eyes as his cock moves in and out of him, speeding up as he begins to lose his rhythm, as the feedback loop of his their mingled arousal drives his body towards the crest of pleasure.

His hips strain against Tim’s, cock driving in. Tim feels it spasm inside of him, and then a spreading warmth. At the same time he presses his fingers against Tim’s tongue, making him gag. The fingers of his other hand squeeze almost too tightly around the base of Tim’s cock, and the cry Tim gives isn’t entirely one of pleasure.

Jon cries out, too, his fingers tightening around Tim’s wrists, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Tim imagines what they’ll look like around his wrists, like bracelets (like handcuffs), marking him, and he shudders.

For a few beats everything is still and silent but for their panting breaths. Elias rests against Tim’s back, breathing heavily, then removes his hands from Tim’s mouth and cock, placing them on his hips as he lets himself slide from his arse. When Elias pulls out of him some of his come slides down Tim’s leg. He’s no longer seeing through Elias’s eyes but he can feel it making its slow way down, tickling him. It doesn’t get far, however, before Elias is trailing a finger up the inside of Tim’s thigh, gathering the mess. Tim feels Elias’s finger enter him then, pushing the come back inside, as if for safekeeping. Tim pushes back into that finger thoughtlessly – he still hasn’t come and his cock is hard and leaking where it’s pressed against the desk – but Elias withdraws before he can do more.

Fingers press up against his lips again; Tim obeys the unspoken command and Elias slides his come coated fingers into his mouth. He pushes in and out in a steady rhythm, using Tim’s tongue to clean them of every trace of come. Tim lets him but doesn’t attempt to clean the digits himself; he isn’t averse to the taste of come but this isn’t play, at least not for him. They aren’t lovers indulging in each other, and Elias may have turned his body against him but he can’t have this, too. Tim won’t allow it. Jon watches avidly, eyes alight with curiosity.

“What does it taste like?” he asks.

“Come,” Tim answers, voice muffled around Elias's fingers, and this time he does laugh at the way it makes Jon narrow his eyes. Apparently that answer is enough for whatever power he has, however, because Tim feels no need to expand on it. Still. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you try it?” he asks, and then regrets it immediately when Jon gets a thoughtful look on his face.

“Can I?” he asks, and apparently that question doesn’t need an answer because he releases Tim’s wrists straight after and hurries around the desk, clipping his leg on the corner in his haste. Tim pushes himself up off the desk, but Elias places a hand on his back and forces him back down. Only turning his head at the last second prevents Tim from smashing his nose into the hard surface beneath him, and his cheek hits it hard enough to make that eye water. Elias holds him down with one impossibly strong hand while he gathers Tim’s wrists with the other and pins them behind his back. His fingers are still damp from Tim's mouth; their wet touch both repulses and excites him. Tim winds up pressed onto the surface of the desk, arse in the air, practically presenting himself to Jon’s hungry gaze.

Silence. He can’t see much from his pinned position, only the legs of Jon’s trousers, and it looks like he might be planning on standing there gazing at him for the rest of his life.

“Didn’t realize my arse was so pretty,” he says, and in answer he gets an image, crystal clear, of his own arse, hole red and slightly swollen and leaking Elias’s come. Tim twitches, torn between disgust and arousal that he will never be able to be sure is his own.

“Don’t do that,” he says, and Elias laughs.

“Don’t ask for it,” he counters, and Tim wants to reply to that but then there are hesitant fingers on his arse, spreading it open even more, and then a tentative tongue presses against him, licking at the come around his hole. Tim gasps and tries to both get away and push into the tongue; the result is a confused sort of writhe that only manages to push him back onto Jon’s face. Jon makes a surprised noise against him; Tim feels it all the way to his toes. Then the tongue is back, lapping gently before withdrawing. Jon makes another soft noise, considering.

“Do you like it?” Elias asks, the creepily indulgent tone back in his voice, and Jon doesn’t answer in words, but goes back to eating Tim’s arse with enthusiasm, really getting in there, making it nice and sloppy; Tim can feel a mix of spit and come running down legs and between that and the noises Jon keeps making against him it’s almost unbearably hot. Tim finds that he’s shooting deliriously towards the edge again without even being touched. He doesn’t think that he can come like this, at least he never has before, but then again he’s never been driven quite this high without being allowed to come before either.

It goes on for too long and not long enough at all, Jon working his mouth on him, driving his tongue in, scooping out every bit of Elias’s come he can get. He pauses only to take breaths before diving in again, and while Tim was right that he can’t come from this alone he does feel like he’ll be driven mad by the pressure of Jon’s mouth on his arse, the wet press of his tongue. He tries to rotate his hips into the desk, something, anything to put pressure on his cock, but Elias keeps him firmly pinned, and even when Tim is reduced to begging – far too soon and far too eagerly for his own presence of mind – he doesn’t relent, only keeps Tim pressed down, fairly immobile while Jon has his fill.

At last Jon stops, pulls his mouth back, away. Tim whines, mindless now, resistance forgotten in the wake of the pleasure and his body’s need to come. _Anything_ , he thinks. _Anything._

“Anything?” Elias asks, and yes, Tim says, yes, please, anything. Elias releases him then, and it’s so unexpected that he spills to the floor, his legs unwilling to hold him up.

“On your knees,” Elias says. “And don’t touch yourself.”

Tim whimpers but does as told, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll be punished. Somewhere deep inside he is screaming, yelling at himself to punch, to bite and kick and claw his way out of this, but that has been wiped aside by Elias and Jon, by hands and cock and tongue. That part will come back later, and he will hate them all the more for this (but not near as much as he hates himself for giving in), but for now it is very faint, barely there at all.

He kneels, jeans rubbing uncomfortably against his bare skin, and watches as Elias slides in behind Jon and intertwines their fingers. Watches as he undoes Jon’s trousers and pulls him out, then uses their joined hands to jack him slowly, steadily, as Jon moves his hips into it and writhes and moans, head flung back against Elias’s shoulder but eyes wide open and fixed on Tim. Both of their eyes are fixed on Tim, watching him watch them. They do this until Jon cries out, eyes going wide, for the first time appearing to see nothing as he comes, body bowing against Elias’s and cry cutting off into a soundless scream. He’s beautiful, and Tim wants nothing more than to watch him until he comes down, but he has to close his eyes to keep from getting come in them as it splashes against his face. He opens his mouth to catch some of it, knowing what Elias wants to see, licking at his lips, tasting Jon on his tongue.

When he opens his eyes Elias has tucked Jon away and is running his hands up and down his arms. Jon is shaking with the after effects of his orgasm, eyes still closed. When he opens them they are wary, uncertain, so much like his old self that for a moment Tim thinks that he’s going to upbraid them both for this horrible display of hormones. But then he tips his eyes towards Elias, and Tim understands.

"W-was that good?" Jon asks, and the question isn't even for him but it doesn't matter. Tim feels the words like a physical touch, feels them curl merciless fingers around his cock and _pull_ , and that's it, he's gone, coming hard, back arching and harsh cry escaping his throat as the world whites out around him. Dimly he hears Elias responding to Jon, telling him that he was very good, that they both were, and he sounds like he’s smiling.

When he comes back to himself he finds that he’s been propped against the desk. Jon is crouching in front of him and moving his fingers through the mess on Tim’s face, methodically scraping it clean of come and pushing it into Tim’s mouth, feeding it to him, watching his hand as if it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen while Elias stands over them both, smiling indulgently, eyes fixed on Jon's face. His smooths his hand over Jon's sweaty, dirty hair, petting it.

Tim closes his eyes. He’s seen enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy nonconathon, furchte_die_schildkrote! I hope you enjoyed it. :)


End file.
